Page 11 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Lelantos laid down, his belly resting on the ground. His sides heaved as he breathed harder than Valeraine had ever heard from him. She touched his spine, and felt a flutter of emotion from him. It was pale and small in comparison to what she had felt during the race, but it was unmistakable: pain. She felt his tired wings, and the stinging ache that had come from the attack of the burgundy dragon, from Pemberley. She felt the pain of Lelantos’ overworked muscles, screaming for air. His mighty lungs were burning.
She couldn’t put him through that again. She had risked everything, and for what? An unimpressive placement in the derby? Emphasizing to all the spectators that Longbourn didn’t have a dragon ready for a derby, or a rider?
Longbourn was still a dragon house. They deserved their title. She knew that in her bones.
But maybe everyone had been right when they looked at Lelantos, so old his wings stretched and wrinkled. He was not fit for the battles of the sky. He deserved a quiet life and an eventual retirement, not being pushed in the derby. It would be for the good of Longbourn if they could race well, but it would be disastrous if Lelantos was gravely injured. At least they had gotten lucky during this one, and he could still fly despite his injury. He would recover.
Pemberley had climbed down off his dragon and was approaching her. He swaggered, arrogant and already spoiling for a fight. “I told you. You don’t belong in a derby,” he condescended to declare, raising his voice so it would reach her on Lelantos’ back. “You shouldn’t try that again, certainly not on the borrowed Longbourn dragon. You will meet a similar fate to this: disappointed, injured, and among the losers.”
“I recall that you were also among the losers.” Valeraine shot back, pitching her voice as low as she could. She thought it was fine, but the blood pounding in her ears made it hard to tell. “On top of it all, you are the hypocrite who campaigned for civility before the race, and yet you attack your fellow riders.”
“I race with my heart and my honor, and I will have satisfaction if you insist I do not!” Pemberley started to remove his glove, as if to throw it at her feet.
Valeraine could not be involved in a duel. She didn’t know the first thing of swordplay or pistols. Pemberley would demand the identity of the man he had challenged. It was a net she could not be caught in.
Valeraine signaled Lelantos to get to his feet, and he obliged. They took to the air, slowly gliding toward Longbourn nest. He knew the way, and was eager to return home.
She was finally able to take a measured breath. It was over. It was finished.
All she had to do was get Lelantos home.
The spectators to the derby would be given time to freshen up, then the ball would begin as twilight came. Valeraine looked forward to watching the sunset from the Longbourn nest, alone and far away from disastrous derbies, tetchy dragons, and argumentative Mr. Pemberley.
Chapter twelve
Valeraine was emotionally wrung out. She couldn’t remember ever being this overwhelmingly in need of a cup of tea. After all the hubbub of the derby, she needed rest.
Lelantos was feeling much the same. Only he had the added complaint of having been through a physically strenuous flight. Lelantos crawled slowly into the nest, wingtips dragging on the ground.
There was another task that she had to do tonight. She couldn’t rest yet.
Valeraine approached Lelantos, murmuring comforts as she went, and sidled up to his right side. He had flown without too much trouble after the attack by Pemberley’s dragon, but there could still be damage that needed treatment. Dragons could live for hundreds of years, but only if their house took care of their needs. She would not have his wing heal incorrectly because she had been too lazy to check it.
She took his wingtip, and gently tugged. It did not budge. “Come on, my fearsome. Let’s have this open one more time. Just for a minute, I promise.”
He let his wing be guided, stretching until it hit the nest wall (which was only half opened). It would do.
Valeraine grabbed the lines for a pulley, and positioned a hammock swing until it dangled next to the wing. She climbed into the hammock then used the ropes to adjust her position until she was hovering a foot above the wing. Valeraine kneaded Lelantos’ joints with her hands, checking for anything out of place, inflamed, or that elicited a growl. She worked her way around the wing, using the guide ropes to move the hammock. He twitched and quivered, but everything seemed in order.
Now, she could go to sleep.
Her dragon was okay.
It was too much risk, too much strain on an old dragon, and he had been retired from derbies for a reason. She shouldn’t put him through that again. She wouldn’t.
Flying had been a wonderful exhilaration. A terrible thrill. It would be dangerous to court it again. She repeated this to herself, trying to believe it.
She thought dreamily of her bed.
No! No no no no. She could not go to sleep. Everyone else would be starting the ball now, and if she was absent the whole night it would be remarked upon. Someone might conclude that she was the masked rider. She needed to be there, acting as if everything was normal.
She would not be getting rest this evening.
Valeraine changed out of her riding costume and hid it away in the nest. She should burn it. Or maybe dismantle the alterations and return the clothes to Kesley. She wouldn’t be using them again. It had been useless, only confirming the view of thepopulace that Longbourn house was mediocre, with one old dragon and no-one left to ride it.
As she walked to the house, she was already unbraiding her hair, preparing to put it up in a knot that would be elaborate enough to pass muster at a party.
Valeraine remembered the moment of flapping around them, trusty Lelantos soaring. That had been excellent. Flying fast had been pure joy. She would be chasing that for the rest of her life, trying to recreate it with balls and with friendships, with casual dragon flights and with mountain journeys. She knew already: there would never be a better moment than diving through a flurried tunnel of dragons.
